A Night with the Jersey Devil
by Chasing Liquor
Summary: McKay, Keller, and Sheppard take a trip through the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Sometimes folk tales are just folk tales, and sometimes they're not. McKeller, Belated Halloween fic.


**Disclaimer**: MGM owns Stargate, and my singer-songwriter hero owns his lyrics.

**Spoilers: **None.

**Description:** McKay, Keller, and Sheppard take a trip through the Pine Barrens of New Jersey. Sometimes folk tales are just folk tales, and sometimes they're not. McKeller. (Belated Halloween fic).

**Warnings: **Nothing in particular, I don't think.

**A/N**: So, yeah... I'm a couple days late with Halloween fic, obviously, but I was really driven to write this, so I hope some of you are still in the spirit!

As always, I greatly appreciate feedback. So let me know what you think in the form of a review. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy.

* * *

**A Night with the Jersey Devil  
**

* * *

"Is this really your first time in Jersey?"

"Yes," McKay replied tersely, "and judging by this trip, I'm not missing much."

Sheppard smirked easily.

"Aw, come on. You should feel right at home."

"Yeah, I get enough trees in Pegasus, thank you very much. I come back to Earth to see parking lots and cell phone towers and – "

" – all you can eat buffets?" Sheppard supplied helpfully.

"For the last time, that was lunch _and_ dinner for me! And with the American dollar what it is today, you'd do well to learn from my example."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, McKay. I'm just saying, you're getting to that age where – "

" – you're two years older than me, hotshot – "

" – it's difficult to keep the pounds off and – "

" – I am in _peak_ condition – "

" – given how little you exercise – "

" – I did fifteen push-ups this morning! – "

" – you should probably be counting calories."

"Says the guy who drinks Coronas like water."

Keller, as if deaf to their banter, glanced out the window into the blackened woods. The eerie goings-on of night were mostly drowned out by the hum of the engine and the formless sounds of her companions' utterances and the barely audible music coming from the car's speakers – Johnny Cash, she was pretty sure, singing something about being an outsider, or maybe some wrong he did in his younger years.

McKay, sitting beside her in the back seat, smiled thinly as he touched her arm.

"You okay?" he asked.

She glanced back at him, as if she'd been in another car and he'd pulled her forcibly into this one.

"Um… yeah. Fine."

"Are you sure? You haven't said much the past hour or so."

She tried to smile reassuringly.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine. It's just a little eerie out here."

McKay let out an agreeing breath, looking back at Sheppard.

"Yeah, no kidding. How much further is this 'cabin' anyway? Assuming there really is one."

"What, you think I'm making it up?" Sheppard retorted.

"I wouldn't put it past you."

"So, what's my plan? To drive you out into the wilderness and kill you?"

"Or plan your own little Blair Witch Project."

Sheppard grinned innocently.

"Nah, that's too much work. You know I don't have the attention span for something like that," he said, waiting some ten seconds or so for a response that didn't come, before adding, "Besides, there's no witches out here. This is Jersey Devil country."

Neither man thought Keller was paying attention, until she asked quietly, "Jersey Devil?"

Sheppard's grin widened, and there was a nefarious quality to it.

"Yeah. You never heard of him?"

She shook her head, in much the same way a curious child might. McKay stiffened at seeing it; he'd watched enough horror movies with her to know that supernatural bedtime stories were the last thing this situation needed.

"Don't even think about it," the scientist warned.

"Hey, it's not up to you, buddy. If the lady wants to hear a story, I'm obliged to share it."

Keller raised her chin bravely.

"Consider yourself obliged then," she said, giving McKay a smug sidelong glance.

Her boyfriend sighed and rolled his eyes, leaning back in defeat and crossing his arms.

Sheppard flashed her a brief smile before returning his eyes to the rocky road, barely visible through the night's fog. Keller looked out the windshield too, but she wasn't smiling.

"Well," the soldier began, voice deepening to resemble that of a radio mystery actor, "it all started back in 1714…"

"1714?" McKay challenged. "You know the exact year?"

"No talking!" Sheppard chided. "And yes, smartass, I've researched this…"

"Where? Wikipedia?"

Keller fixed McKay with a glare, and the scientist once again sighed and stilled. Sheppard watched the exchange, and once he was certain his friend had been pacified, he continued.

"Now, as I was saying… it all started in 1714. Began with a woman named Mother Leeds. She lived on the outskirts of the Pine Barrens."

"What are the Pine Barrens?" Keller asked.

"Well, it just so happens, actually, that we're in the Pine Barrens right now."

Both men saw her stiffen. Sheppard fought to hide his smile.

"Covers more than a million acres. Mother Leeds lived on the outskirts. She had her first child in 1714. Through the years, she had eleven more. Her husband was the insatiable type, I guess. After the twelfth one, though, she decided she'd had her fill. Declared to the whole world one night that if she ever had another, she'd give birth to the devil himself."

Keller noted distantly that there wasn't any music coming from the speakers anymore.

"There were a few who thought she was a witch. But most people didn't give it much thought. They figured she was just a mother who'd been put upon too much. Just frustration, you know? In 1735, or thereabouts at least, she got pregnant with her thirteenth. The months went on, and there wasn't anything particularly unusual you could point to. But I guess the worst things in the world are the sort that don't announce themselves."

Whether the doctor knew it or not, she had a crushing grip on McKay's hand. Sheppard didn't bother looking back, eyes fixed on the road, caught in a storyteller's trance. McKay caught a look at his eyes in the rearview mirror, and they were darker than usual.

"It was a stormy night sometime in December when she finally went into labor. The chimney was burning hot, and the wind and snow outside rattled all the stuff that was loose around the house. Her husband and her kids and everyone were gathered all around her. No one would talk about what she'd said – about number thirteen being the devil – but they'd all thought about it. So when the kid came out looking normal, ten fingers and an Irish head, everyone was relieved. For a little bit, at least."

Keller had scooted across toward McKay as much as her seatbelt would allow, trying to lean on him, but finding it an awkward task.

Sheppard's face was hidden by shadows.

"See, it wasn't more than a few minutes before the boy stopped being a boy. His skin and bone started to stretch, like there was something inside of him, until the skin finally burst beneath the strain. He was transforming into something else. Instead of feet, he had hooves. And instead of that big Irish head, he had a horse's head. His back rippled, until finally wings came out of his spine."

He shook his head, no hint of mischief or irony or fun.

"The worst part, though, was the forked tail. He let out this horrible scream – like an animal does when it's dying – and the tail whipped around the room like a cable caught in a storm, and the end of it cut the midwife's throat open – killed her. The children and the husband all cowered and hid, until the devil finally disappeared up the chimney and flew away."

"They never saw it again?" Keller asked.

"Oh, no, they saw it again," Sheppard said, voice gravelly like the stuff his tires were spinning over. "See, they went out looking for it. Father figured it was his responsibility not to let a thing like that loose on good folk who didn't ask for the trouble. He combed the woods every night for weeks until he finally found it – sleeping on a bed of dead leaves…"

McKay thought Sheppard was making this part up. He smoothed his thumb over the back of Keller's hand, but she didn't feel it.

"He beat it in the head. The thing stirred for a while, but finally stilled. He thought he killed it, but he wanted to be sure. So he drug it down to the river and tied it in rocks, then threw it in. He stood there a while to make sure it sank to the bottom, and then he went on home."

Keller frowned deeply.

"It didn't die, did it?"

"Nope. Matter of fact, that same night, it flew back to the house. Came in through the chimney and slaughtered its father. Killed some of its brothers and sisters too. Scalped them like it saw the Indians do. But it spared the mother."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Some people say it's because you can't help but love your mother. Other people say it was the more gruesome thing to let her live, so it took its vengeance that way. No one will ever know for sure, but it left her be that night."

"Did she ever see it again?"

"Oh, yeah. She surely did."

McKay wondered when it was Sheppard learned to talk like a southern gothic writer.

"About three months later," Sheppard said, "it started visiting her at night. Didn't try to hurt her, and didn't say anything to her. It would just stand there and stare at her, forlorn-looking. One night – this was when all the brothers and sisters were in town on All Hallows' Eve – she even invited it inside."

Keller looked perplexed.

"Why would she do that?"

"Maybe she felt sorry for it. Or maybe she'd been planning what happened later from the beginning."

"Planning what? What did she do?"

"She made up a bed for it. Clean sheets and everything. It laid down like any child would and went to sleep."

Some thin branches sniped at the sides of the car, and Keller jumped when one of them smacked against her door.

"But what did she _do_?" the doctor demanded, sounding frustrated, as if there wouldn't peace until the story was finally over.

"She stayed up all night, sitting next to the fireplace and keeping warm 'til about three in the morning. Then she got up – real calm as the story goes – and doused the devil's bed with kerosene. Set the thing on fire while it slept."

He swept a hand over his stubble, like a Jimmy Stewart character might.

"It woke up ablaze, stumbled around the house all manic, setting fire to everything. The mother fled outside, and all she could do was watch as the house came down."

"What about the devil?"

"It flew out the chimney, just like it had the first time, and disappeared into the night. That was the last time Mother Leeds ever saw it. It never came back to repay her personally for what she'd done. But after that, it terrorized all the locals. Killed their cattle and crops, killed some of the women and children."

He finally looked back at Keller for the first time in a while.

"After Mother Leeds died, it didn't show itself as much. But it's always done enough through the years to make sure it's not forgotten," he said, giving her an unsettling grin. "In fact, they say that if you tell its story when you're in the Pine Barrens – no matter how soft you speak – it'll hear you, and come for you."

McKay looked at Keller's skin, which had grown progressively paler as the story went on, and could contain himself no longer, not even to spare the doctor's pride.

"Okay, that is _quite enough_, Stephen King!" he snapped. "Thank you _so_ much for scaring the crap out of her on a deserted road. What is your _problem_?"

Keller glared at him, but this time he glared right back.

"I can handle a scary story, Rodney."

"Yeah, clearly. That's why you're breaking every bone in my hand."

She looked down, cheeks flushing with embarrassment when she saw the white grip she had on him. With a defeated sigh, she retracted her hand, clasping it together with her other one and fidgeting in her lap.

"Aw, come on," Sheppard drawled. "It's just a story, right, Doc? You don't believe in that stuff, do you?"

"Of course not," she replied immediately.

"See, McKay? No harm done."

"You don't get to talk anymore," the scientist grumbled. "Just shut up and drive."

Sheppard made a face.

"Fine, Dr. Killjoy. We'll all just sit here quietly and stare out the window. That sounds like fun."

No one said anything for a time after that.

Sheppard and McKay both appeared suitably annoyed, sulking in their own way. Keller was still a little pale, restless, moving around in her seat constantly. Her hands shook for a while, until McKay finally reached over and covered them with one of his. They stilled after that.

Every stretch of road was identical, like a looping animation, and the fog obscured a lot of the treeline, hinting at something pernicious in the distance.

McKay wondered idly why Keller could dismiss the notion of magic shrines, but entertain the idea that a devil still lived in Jersey. He figured maybe it was just in people's nature to believe in what could hurt them, and ignore the world's miracles.

The scientist's head snapped up when from nowhere in the dark, he heard an abrupt crackle. Sheppard seemed to know what it was, because he cursed beneath his breath.

"What? What is it?" McKay asked.

The car slowed to a stop, inch by endless inch. Keller was pulled out of her reverie when Sheppard cursed again, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.

"I think it's the engine," the soldier sighed, turning off the ignition.

"I swear to God, John," McKay threatened, "if you're just messing around – "

"Yeah, that's exactly what I'm doing. Because my folk tale went over _so_ well, I thought I'd pretend to have the car break down so you could bitch and moan at me some more."

Sheppard threw open the door and got out before McKay could reply, circling around to the front of the car, where he lifted the hood and peered inside. The scientist and Keller got out too, but neither looked comfortable in doing it.

The sky up above was a thin gray dreamscape, just barely visible over the trees, and Keller couldn't help shivering, spooked, forcing her eyes to remain on Sheppard or on McKay or on the uneven road.

"What's it look like?" McKay asked tiredly.

Sheppard sighed again, hunched forehead on his forearms.

"Pick your poison," he replied in quiet disgust. "There's a hole in the cylinder, which isn't exactly great news. But that's moot, considering this battery is completely dead."

"It's _dead_? They gave us a dead rental car?"

"So it would seem."

"That's great. That's just _great_. I will be writing a _strongly_ worded letter when we get back!"

"Yeah, I'm sure they're shaking in their ivory towers."

Keller pushed some hair behind her ear, crossing her arms and bouncing on her feet.

"You can fix it, right?" she asked hopefully.

Sheppard shook his head.

"Sorry, Doc. No chance."

"But, we – we're out here in the middle of nowhere! How are were supposed to…"

She trailed off, rummaging through her pocket for a moment, pulling out her cell phone and flipping it open. To her dismay, the display read: 'No Service.'

"No bars," she said. "Nothing. This isn't good. Are we stuck out here? Are we going to have to wait until someone comes by? I haven't seen anyone in three hours and – "

Sheppard ran a hand through his messy hair.

"All right, all right. Calm down, okay? You're starting to sound like Rodney."

"That's because she's a genius with a pretty good idea of how totally _screwed_ we are!" McKay interjected. "What the hell are we supposed to do now? Wander through the woods? Tell ghost stories around some road flares?!"

"Both of those ideas are preferable to the two of you _freaking out_, so cool it, all right?"

McKay blew out a hard breath, but quieted, stepping around Sheppard to stand beside Keller. She leaned against him gratefully when he slipped an arm around her waist.

"Okay, fine," McKay said after a time, calmer. "What's your idea then, Jack London?"

Sheppard slammed the hood closed, then turned around to lean back against the front of the car. He'd been in infinitely worse situations than this, but somehow the fact that this one was taking place on Earth – not some distant alien planet – made it all the more terrible and embarrassing.

"Look," he said, doing his best to sound certain of himself, "we've got food and water, and it's not going to get much colder than this. We'll just sleep in the car, and wait for someone to come along."

"But what if no one does?" Keller pressed him.

"Doc, this isn't a big traffic road, but it's not Waziristan either, okay? Somebody will drive by eventually."

That seemed to satisfy her. She nodded.

McKay could tell she was still uneasy, though. The setting alone seemed enough to rattle her. So he took her hand in his and offered a disingenuously pleasant smile.

"It'll be fine," he said. "Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

She wasn't, but she couldn't bring herself to rebuff his efforts to comfort her, so she nodded. He jumped into action immediately, jogging around to the back of the car and opening the trunk. He sifted through some of the bags, pulling out a bottle of water and an energy bar for her.

Keller accepted the items with a tight smile, climbing back into the car with him. Sheppard joined them, settling back into the driver's seat.

A few minutes later, as she looked down at her half-eaten energy bar, leaning against McKay's shoulder, their friend turned to look back at them.

"Listen, I'm sorry if that story scared you. I was just trying to have some fun."

She regarded him mildly.

"You don't have to apologize. I asked you to tell me the story. And anyway, I'm an adult. No reason to be scared of boogeymen, right?"

"Does that mean I can tell you another story?"

"No."

"Fair enough."

They lapsed into silence for a while after that, before McKay cheerfully suggested a game of "20 Questions," a Keller time-passing favorite. She begrudgingly agreed, but was disgusted at game's end to discover that his "object" was _her_. She pondered the feminist implications of that while Sheppard and McKay played.

Hours passed as easily as kidney stones. Keller couldn't decide whether to keep the door open or not. She felt claustrophobic in the car, like it was slowly retracting with a mind to swallow her. But the air outside chilled her, and every sound from deep in the night was heavy and evil and _near_. All things feared were always near.

It was inevitable that, eventually, someone would have need to empty themselves of the water they drank. It happened to be Sheppard.

"I'll be back in a little bit."

McKay blinked sleepily.

"Huh? Where are you going?"

"I have some business that requires tree bark and a dark place," Sheppard replied, sliding out of his seat and stretching his back. "I'll be back in a minute."

McKay nodded, watching his friend disappear out of sight.

Then he glanced back at Keller, who met his gaze drowsily, eyes full of a drunken quality that took him aback. She still looked pale.

"Are you okay?"

"Would you stop asking that?"

"Everything's going to be all right," he insisted, face set in a frown.

She sighed, looking exhausted beyond description. She sought out some words which might satisfy his concern, but they eluded her. How do you convince the person who knows you better than anyone of a bold and plain untruth?

"I know, Rodney. I'm just tired. And not feeling great…" She trailed off briefly, before adding in a moment of weakness, "And I've never liked the woods."

McKay intertwined their fingers.

"How come?"

Keller wished she could retract the admission, but decided he deserved to hear the whole thing.

"When I was a kid, I went on a hiking trip with my dad out west. I woke up one morning and decided to go exploring on my own while he was sleeping."

"You got lost?" McKay surmised.

"Yeah. It was all switchbacks and I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. For a while, I decided to pick a place and stay there. I think I did that because when I was real young, before Mom died, she would tell me to do that at the grocery store – that it would make it easier for her to find me."

She raised a hand to her forehead, pressing her palm against it briefly, as if the rest of the story were lost to her. McKay waited patiently, still holding her other hand, and she gathered herself to continue.

"But, um… he didn't find me. So eventually I started trying to find my way back myself. I didn't, of course. And then it got dark. I didn't have a clue what to do, so I just found a big rock and huddled against it, and I cried all night. I was hungry and it was cold and I only had a little bit of water. I couldn't sleep. Just kept crying all night. And I could hear all the animals out; it felt like they were all circling around me, like they were going to come for me. It was – I – it was just so terrifying, you know?"

McKay nodded. He thought she might continue, but she didn't.

"There's one thing I don't understand," he said. "You're in the woods all the time in Pegasus. What's the difference between there and here?"

Keller looked out through the windshield into the black-gray void. She thought if she peered long enough and hard enough, she might see a reflection of the little girl who couldn't find her father.

"It's not just the woods. It's…" She squinted her eyes a little. "It's this night, I guess. And the sounds. Everything about this place feels just like it did when I was lost."

He couldn't think of anything to say. She was used to that, of course. In a way, it was why she loved him. Most people had a lot of deep-sounding sentiments at the ready when someone looked sad. But all he had was _him_. That was worth a lot to her.

She felt his hand on her face, tilting it up. Then he pressed his lips against hers gently, before letting his forehead fall against hers. It was a lovely thing in a dark place.

But then a low, agonized, primal scream from deep inside the woods murdered their moment.

The lovers parted abruptly, as one scream turned to two, and two to three, each one sounding as grim and dangerous as the trumpet of the apocalypse. It wasn't clear if it was human or animal or something too terrible to be uttered by a mortal thing, but it was a fierce enough noise that Keller prayed on instinct to God.

Both of them shook, but McKay was the more lucid of the two.

"Sheppard," he mumbled, eyes wide.

Keller blinked a few times, as if that alone could send away the fear and let her think. Sheppard. Sheppard, she thought. Where was he?

She didn't have time to properly remember before McKay was climbing into the front seat, his shaking hands opening the glove box to grab Sheppard's gun. An instant later, he was outside the car. She felt drunk or high, or as if she was watching him move on a satellite delay.

"W–wait! Rodney! Where are you going?!"

"Stay here!" he demanded with a stern glance.

And then he was running. Visible for just a few seconds longer before he faded out of the seen world, his footsteps sounding further and further away until they couldn't be heard at all. Just like that – gone from one world, and into another.

_Hear me now!  
__I was born 13th child, 'neath the 13th moon  
Spit out hungry and born anew  
Daddy drag me to the river, tie me in rocks  
Throw me in where it's deep and wide  
I go down, I don't die_

Another scream. And another and another and another.

Terrible images flashed through her mind. Of McKay and Sheppard, and the awkward angles of broken bodies. Of blood dripping from their hands, and their eyes full of nothing.

She thought about her mom and the grocery store, and about her dad out west, and about whether it was better to stay somewhere or go somewhere.

She cried.

_Hole in the river bottom, I crawl through  
Come back and kill six brothers and sisters, kill papa too  
Sway down Mama, sway down low  
They gonna know me wherever I go_

She was stumbling through the woods in an incompetent pursuit. Trying to follow the scream to its source.

The darkness wasn't something to be feared from dim light's safety now; it had swallowed her, like the earth swallows bones. And at a point like that, direction didn't matter. Left, right, up, down – the sound came from everywhere, and she didn't know which way she was moving anyway.

All she could think was that she was wrong to leave the car, to enter the world of specters and shadows and pines. She ran into a tree every fifth step. She could feel blood on her face for the trouble.

She started shouting, in a shrill, ragged tone that sounded more like the dark night's scream than it did her own voice.

"Rodney!" it rang out. "_Rodney_! _Rodney_!"

_Into my bed, with her kerosene, my mama creep  
Set my flesh to burning, whilst I sleep  
I burn, burn, burn, 'til my soul burn black  
Black rains fall, I come back, I come back  
Get down Mama, get down low  
They gonna know me wherever I go_

The scream was punctuated by the sound of nearby gunfire, and the flash from the barrel lit up the night with each shot. She could just barely see it, but it was enough to guide her. And she ran. Ran ran ran.

"Rodney!" she shouted. "Rodney!"

More gunfire. Then a voice – a real, human voice.

"Jennifer, don't! Get out of here!" it shouted.

But she wouldn't. She couldn't. Even if she wanted to.

She was close now. So close. And when the next gunshot illuminated her way, she got a murky look at the terrible something which was howling in the night – the epicenter of that godless scream. It was tall and long and not a thing meant to walk amongst men.

McKay unloaded the rest of his clip as the thing flopped around, rocked back by each shot, but utterly undeterred.

Sheppard was lying on the ground, stomach half-emptied of its entrails.

As soon as McKay's clip was emptied, the thing rushed forward, slashing him across the face and knocking him onto his stomach. She watched as a foot – not a man's foot by any means – pressed down onto his back, and seemed to crackle with fire, branding McKay's flesh like a frontier wrangler from another century.

His scream and the thing's scream seemed to become one, and imbued with the pain of them both, it grew so deafening that Keller's eyes at last rolled back, and she fell with a tiny, quiet thump to the everlasting earth.

_Ram's head, forked tail, clove hoof, love's my trail  
I sup on your body, sip on your blood like wine  
Out World theirs, this world mine  
So kiss me baby, 'til it hurts  
God lost in heaven, we lost on earth_

She felt herself surrounded by a warm body, and there were strong arms restraining her, and a familiar voice was whispering sweet things to her in hushed, soothing tones. Still, she couldn't help thrashing and crying and trying to get away from something – far away.

"Hey, come on. It's okay. Shh. Calm down."

What a lovely voice that was. It wouldn't be right of her to deny it, when it was so gentle and caring and accompanied by the lips she felt moving through her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she could see a blurred face smiling worriedly at her as big hands cupped her cheeks. McKay. His hair sloppy and messy and his face unshaven and his eyes narrow and beautiful and so full of concern and love for her.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked, stroking the skin around her temple.

She didn't answer at first, blinking, feeling her body quake as if in the throes of hypothermia.

"I – I…"

She closed her eyes and tried to think. Where had she been? What place had she left to return to this one?

"You were having a dream," he said. "I woke up and you were crying, and calling my name. You sounded terrified."

And then it came. Fragments and feelings and glimpses into the dream world. Sheppard's body split open. McKay's agony as he lay on the ground. A broke-down car in the middle of Jersey.

"We – I – we were on Earth," she said, tears in her eyes, "and we got lost in the woods and Sheppard was telling this story about this devil and – "

McKay sighed, cutting her off with a kiss on the lips before cradling her head against his shoulder.

"I knew I shouldn't have let Sheppard tell those stories," he said.

She frowned against his shoulder, confused. He felt, more than heard, her mumble, "What?"

"Last night, at the Halloween party. He was telling all those ghost stories. I know those scare you."

Her pride cried out for her to refute the claim, but she decided it might seem pathetic given the way she was clinging to him. So she held him tighter instead.

"Why don't I remember that?" she asked.

"Well, uh… you were pretty…"

"Pretty what?"

"Drunk."

She was still for a few seconds, and then he felt her moving against him again as she muttered in quiet, embarrassed voice, "Oh."

He rubbed her back in soothing circles, and as the minutes wore on in silence, he could feel her relaxing, her memories of the dream fading the further and further she got from sleep's dark pull.

"Are you okay now?" he asked when her body stopped shaking.

She nodded against the bottom of his chin.

"I'm… sorry about that."

Her voice sounded so defeated and humiliated that he pulled back again to get another look at her. He shook his head firmly, as if to shame away her self-deprecating thoughts.

"It's fine," he said. "No being sorry. You're allowed to be scared. I mean, at least your nightmares are about the devil. Imagine how I feel when you have to hold me 'cause I see clowns in my sleep."

His remarks had the desired effect. The corners of her mouth quirked up affectionately, and she kissed him.

"Yeah, but they're _scary_ clowns," she assured him. "And I like holding you."

He smiled back.

"Then, uh… I guess we've got a good arrangement here, right?"

She didn't say anything, but her smile kept. Satisfied she was all right, he pulled away from her and rolled to the side of the bed, sitting up.

"I'm going off-world at 0900," he said, "so I should probably get in the shower."

"Okay," Keller replied over a yawn, stretching out across the bed lazily.

He stood up and started toward the bathroom, pulling his t-shirt over his head on his way and dropping it on the ground.

Keller wore a sleepy grin, feeling happy and content and safe from all harm, until she turned her head to the side, breath catching in her throat, paralyzed, as she saw the angry red outline of a cloven hoof tattooed into McKay's back.

"Oh my God."

_Sway down Mama, sway down low  
They gonna know me wherever I go_

_

* * *

_**FIN**


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